


you can’t stop the beat (of my heart)

by crossedsabers10S



Series: cruelty has a human heart [1]
Category: The Lost Boys (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Kinda, Multi, No beta we die like mne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossedsabers10S/pseuds/crossedsabers10S
Summary: Renesmee Carlie Cullen has everything she's ever wanted, living with her forever doting family. Everything but the freedom to live how she wants. But when she falls sick, the people her grandfather call in to help her show her that there are some things that even immortals live for.Santa Carla has been the murder capital of the world for decades, one letter later and the town breathes a sigh of relief, but the things that lurk in the night are always there, sometimes they just move elsewhere. Watch out, Forks.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale, Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, David/Michael Emerson (Lost Boys), Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Jacob Black/Renesmee Cullen (mentioned)
Series: cruelty has a human heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734427
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

It was a slow night. It was winter, which meant that tourist season was over. Prey was always scarce in winter and the boardwalk had been closed down for repairs after a storm hit it; which really put a damper on their usual nightly activities. So they’d spilt up and spread out to draw less suspicion. Michael had gotten lucky and picked up a drifter near the train tracks; the rest of the pack was still out, so he was enjoying the peace and quiet by sprawling out on his back on one of the couches, reading a magazine he’d picked up last week—picked up, stolen, whatever.  
It's been three decades since Michael and his family moved to Santa Carla and it’s been three decades since Michael drank blood out of a shitty bejeweled wine bottle in the wreck of an abandoned hotel while a group of strangers chanted his name. Less than a week after that and Michael was dead. 

Dead and still kicking, now a bloodsucking creature of the night, and all because he saw a girl on the Boardwalk and followed her home. Or, rather, because David saw him see Star and thought setting him up would be amusing. Then Michael proved himself more than a bit of temporary amusement, keeping up with him and the rest of the boys despite the night and fog and unfamiliar turf—and what Michael now realizes must have been them screwing with his head. And when Michael ignored every bit of common sense and rational instinct in favor of adrenaline fueled rage to punch David despite the fact that the man had almost just killed him? Well, that made him interesting. 

Interesting enough to be more than food. So Michael ended up chugging vampire blood out of a blinged out bottle, eyes locked with the man who had almost had him drive off a cliff and then invited him over for a drink, thinking it was shitty wine even though it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and wine had never made the world blur for him after barely a mouthful.   
The rest was history.

Michael doesn’t look up from his magazine when David storms into the cave, too busy drooling over one of the bikes on a page. He does look up when David kicks over an unlit oil drum, though. David stomps past him, kicking debris out of his way as he goes. One particularly vicious kick embeds a high heel into an already cracked pillar. Glitter flakes off and floats to the floor, mixing with the dirt and dust. Some memento from a girl who hadn’t made it out, he assumes. 

Michael tosses his magazine to the floor and turns so he can watch David pace. His eyes go a little wide when David yanks the shoe out of the pillar and tosses it again, this time it ends up in the fountain and knocks over Paul’s nail polish collection. Little bottles clatter to the floor; Michael watches one of them roll off into a crack leading to who knows where. He thinks that one was Paul’s favorite. Oops. “What’s with you?” he asks.

“Nothing,” David growls out, eyes flickering yellow to blue and back again. Michael feels his own eyes widen at the loss of control. It wasn’t often that David let his emotions get the better of him, and never in so obvious a way.

“Right,” Michael agrees. “Nothing’s up, which is why you’re throwing a bitch fit and wrecking our shit.” He sits up. “What’s going on?”

David glares at him and doesn’t answer. Michael rolls his eyes. His sire could be so dramatic sometimes.

“Like you can talk,” David says in response to the thought. “How long did you spend playing house with your human pets, again?” The blond vampire sneers at him before going back to pacing.

It’s Michael’s turn to glare. So, he’d visited his mother and brother some, so what? It’s not like they hadn’t know he was a vampire. Besides, the visits had tapered off after a few years when they had started getting freaked all over again when it became obvious Michael wasn’t aging. He hadn’t even seen Sammy in a decade, at least. David still brings it up every time he’s feeling pissy, though. 

“David,” Michael says, annoyed now, and even a little concerned. He tosses the magazine to the ground. Seeing David all worked up was unusual. What’s going on, he projects.   
Some of his worry must have slipped through because David stops in his tracks and sends an evaluating look Michael’s way. “An old friend called,” he says. 

“An old friend?” Maybe a bitch fit was justified. “This ‘friend’ going to be anything like the last one?” Michael asks, justifiably wary.

The last time David had been contacted by an ‘old friend,’ it had been one of Max’s old friends; an ancient vamp who had rolled into town and immediately tried to take it over. With no Max as a deterrent, she had decided that Santa Carla was the place to set up shop. It had taken all five of them to stake the old bitch, but not before she had managed to dish out some nasty injuries. It had taken Michael a week for his arm to reattach. A week of pain, having to be force fed victims because he’d been too weak to move on his own, let alone hunt. A week of being useless and being waited on by his worried brothers who’d all sported injuries of their own. When they’d cornered her, in her fancy, glitzed out lair, Michael had taken great enjoyment in helping rip her limb from limb.

David eyes him for a second and whatever his sire sees calms him down. “Probably not,” he admits. He sits next to Michael and Michael doesn’t melt into his side, per se, but he does lean on him a little. Just a bit. It’s not like he was scared or anything. 

“Anyone ever tell you about the daywalkers?” David asks, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

Michael blinks at him. “Wait, Dwayne wasn’t screwing with me? There’re really vamps out there that can walk in the sun?” 

David snorts. “Something like that. Instead of bursting into flames they start reflecting or glittering or something.” Glitter? That didn’t sound… quite right. In Michael’s experience, vamps who dared going out in the daytime were more prone to bursting into flames than sparkling. 

“That’s why I thought he was screwing with me. When I think vampire, I don’t really picture a disco ball, you know.”

“Not many people do. Anyway, Max knew a couple. He had a phase a few decades before he kicked it, wanted to play doctor.” David rolled his eyes at the memory. That or at Max’s obsession with playing human. “Ran into one of them and they hit it off.” 

“Play doctor? What, so he cures them of the flu and all his patients die of blood loss instead?”  
“I wish. No, I mean he set up a little ‘family practice’ and played doctor. Even made us help out a few times.”

Michael is amused at the idea of any of the boys helping take care of sick humans. Oh man, maybe they even had little uniforms? He pictures a grumpy David wearing a nurse’s hat and doesn’t even try to stop his smirk from showing. God, maybe they even had to clean bedpans, and the thought makes him snicker.

David tugs at his hair until he stops laughing. Michael winces, but stops; only letting slip the occasional chuckle. “That stopped when Paul got a little peckish one day and ate all the patients. For some reason, no one wanted to visit the place where a ‘plague’ had broken out,” David continues, blatantly changing the subject.

Michael goes along with it. He’s just going to bring it up later. “So Paul’s a plague, now? I could believe it.”

David brushes a hand through Michael’s curls, mind somewhere in the past. “It wasn’t a bad cover. Good explanation for a lot of suddenly dead people and no one wanted to go near the bodies. Too bad for Max’s little business, though. Anyway, a bit after that and we met Marko. Skipped town a little later.”

“But what does this have to do with daywalkers?”

“Oh, he was playing doctor too. He and his wife were working at the local hospital.”

“And no plague broke out there?” Michael couldn’t imagine working around bleeding humans all day. It was one thing to be on the Boardwalk, where he knew he’d be able to pick up a snack later, but working around blood all day and not snapping? Impossible. 

“Nope. Not even a little one. They were ‘vegetarians.’” David sneers the word.

“Vegetarians? What, they drink tomato juice or something?” Michael asks, incredulous. Vampire vegetarians? 

“They drank animal blood. Even managed to live off of the stuff.” David’s nose wrinkles and Michael quickly squashes the thought that it was adorable before the blond could catch it. “They were weird, man.”

“Wait, wait. Daywalkers drink animal blood?” Michael almost gagged. Animal blood did not smell appetizing. Maybe if he was starving… Nah. Not even then.

“No. Most of ‘em drink human, like us. As far as I could tell, there’re only a few covens that bother. Says it makes them feel more human or something.” Scorn evident in his voice, David scowls.

Michael couldn’t believe it. Voluntarily living off of animals? Maybe Michael would have gone for it when he was half, or even when he was first turned, but after more than three decades of reveling in blood and murder giving it up was almost inconceivable. But… back when he was half he would have given anything to feel human again. To be able to be around his family without having to focus on not tearing out their throats. 

“Does it work?” Michael asks, still caught up in what ifs.

David stiffens next to him, going from pliant to tense in less than a second. He grabs Michaels chin in a grip that would bruise if he was still human and wrenches it so they’re face to face, barely an inch between them. Michael starts to fight in his surprise, but falls still at the cool anger in those blue eyes. “No,” David says, and leans in even closer. “Not for us, so don’t even think about it. All you’ll do is manage to make yourself sick.”

Michael holds his gaze for a second. Shit, David was pissed. 

Michael drops his eyes and tilts his head to the side as much as David’s grip will allow. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he protests. 

David holds him for another second, testing his sincerity. “Good,” he says, and releases him.  
Michael scoots in closer and noses at a leather covered shoulder. Maybe the normal thing—the human thing—would have been to put some distance between them, but Michael was a vampire. And vampiric instinct demanded that he placate his angry pack leader. 

So, Michael swings a leg over his lap and straddles him, pressing his nose to David’s neck in apology. David was still tense, but settles his hands on Michael’s hips. After a minute of quiet David slowly unwinds.

“Daywalkers are different,” David continues, which is probably as close to an apology as Michael is going to get. “They can handle sunlight, crosses, and holy water. Their skin is hard as stone and the younger ones are strong. Fast, too. They don’t sleep, they can’t eat human food, and their eyes are always red unless they drink animal blood, that makes them yellow.”

And maybe it wasn’t the smartest to keep asking about the topic, but—“Yellow?”

David shrugs. “Yellow, gold, orangey sometimes if they drink both.”

“How’s that make sense? Animal blood is red too.”

David huffs a laugh. “Don’t ask me. Max might’ve known, but he never shared anything.”

“And they don’t have issues with crosses and holy water? At all?”

“Nope. Staking them doesn’t work either.”

Michael rears back in surprise, staring wide-eyed at David. “Staking doesn’t work?”

“Like I said, their skin is like rock. Wood doesn’t really cut it.”

“How the hell do you kill them, then?” Michael demands. “If stakes, holy water, and sunlight don’t work?”

“So bloodthirsty, Michael,” David croons, smirking at him. “Can’t say I don’t like it.”

“David,” Michael grouses. David wraps a hand around the back of Michael’s neck and pulls him back closer. Michael rolls his eyes, but goes with it, letting David arrange him until he’s re-settled on his lap.

“Relax, there’re ways. You just have to rip them apart and burn all the pieces. Easy.” David 

“Easy? You just said they were stronger than us.”

“No,” David corrects, “I said the young ones are stronger than us. They weaken the older they get.”

“That’s….”

“Different, I know. They can’t fly either. No flying, no telepathy, no illusions,” he lists off. “Not unless they’re ‘gifted’ and only some of them are.” David leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes, exposing the pale line of his throat. “All in all, we’re evenly matched, provided we’re over a century and they’re not newborns.” His mouth curls into a smirk.

Michael narrows his eyes at the smug tone. “So. Everyone but me. That’s what you’re saying.”

David smirks harder at Michael’s irritation and looks at him out from under his eyelashes. “Yeah. Pretty much. You’re strong for a fledge, but you haven’t even hit fifty yet. You’re not going to be much help in a fight.”

Michael nips at his jawline in retaliation. “Shut up, I’m stronger than Marko, and he’s over a century.”

David chuckles at him. “Yeah, but Marko is tiny. And at least he can use illusions.”

Michael is not pouting. Or sulking, or whatever it is that his face does that Paul makes fun of him for when he’s pissed. It’s not like he can check in a mirror, but still, he definitely doesn’t pout.   
He knows he’s not as good at the mental side of things as the rest of the boys. By the time Marko was his age he could convince a human they were being eaten alive by rats or sinking into quicksand, to say nothing of the mindfuckery David was able to pull off. Michael could suggest things and, providing the suggestions weren’t too out there, humans usually fell for it; but his suggestions stuck a lot less than his packmate’s. And don’t even get him started on shielding. His mental shields took a lot of effort to maintain, so he usually didn’t bother. Successfully keeping things from the others was very much a hit or miss. 

David, on the other hand, had the best shields of the pack. Anything he projected was very much deliberate unless he was relaxed. According to the older boys, it’s a leftover from being connected to Max for centuries. “Daddy dearest” didn’t like when his children projected their distaste of his ideas and was very willing to dole out punishments for ruining his “happy-family” vibes.

Some of the things they had told Michael made him wish he could dig up the old bastard just to stake him again. Slowly.

“Alright, so, daywalkers. And one of them is, what, stopping by to pay his respects to Max? Hasn’t he heard he’s been dust for thirty years?”

David’s face goes blank. Crap, now he’s pissed again. “No,” he says, and Michael catches a glimpse of fangs when he opens his mouth. “Got a letter from the doc. Said he needs our help with something.”

“Our help?” Michael doesn’t even bother to tone down the surprise in his voice. There weren’t a lot of people who would ask for the Lost Boys’ help with anything. Especially not someone who had met them before. 

“Yeah. Invited us all up to the family home in Washington. Wants our ‘expertise.’”

“Our what?” Oh, great, now he sounds like a broken record. 

“Yeah. They’ve got a half-vampire problem.”

“Why would they need help with—”

“Daywalkers don’t do half. They get bitten, they change or die. There are no take backs, no ‘kill the head vampire and turn human,’ do not pass Go and do not collect two hundred.”

“And they think we know something about it?”

David pulls a face. “Apparently. Doc thinks that there might be a few things in common, but we won’t know until we go and check.”

“Until we—what?” Leave? Leave Santa Carla? Leave their territory undefended? Something in Michael recoils at the thought. They’d left before, to lay low, to let the human population forget the scary stories about the gang that haunted the Boardwalk; but only when necessary, and never not on their own terms.

“Yeah.” David’s face shows his own distaste at the idea. 

“And we’re going to!?”

“We owe him,” David says simply.

“Owe who what?” Dwayne asks, walking into the cave. He has a cigarette stub in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. 

“We owe somebody something?” Paul strolls in behind him, either not knowing or not caring about the sand covering his clothes and sprinkling the floor. “Thought we actually paid for that brake cable.”

Marko comes in last, twirling a purse around in the air. The white fabric of the bag now the brownish red of drying blood. “Been gambling again, Davey?” he asks, and tosses the purse onto a stack of similarly blood covered accessories. 

Michael flips himself around, so that his back is to David’s chest. David just readjusts his arms so that they’re draped around Michael’s waist. “You guys are back early,” he asks, and sends an inquiring look to Dwayne. “It’s not even midnight yet.”

Dwayne shrugs at him, but doesn’t answer, instead flicking his cigarette butt into an oil drum. 

“No,” David says, scowling at Marko. “And stop bringing shit back to the cave, it’s starting to smell.”

Marko pouts. “I’m collecting them,” he says, with a pride filled look at the gore-stained junk he’s got in the corner. The pile of half dozen random items teeters in response.

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that,” Paul says, picking up a bag that looked like someone had made it from a pair of holy jeans. The entire bottom of it is stained red-brown and it’s stuck to the end of a scarf. “You finally starting your dream of being a drag queen, or what?”

Marko only smirks. “I’m going to put them in that police guy’s house,” he explains. “You know, the one who thinks that we’re serial killers? I figured that giving him a few presents would let him know how much we appreciated being hauled into the station on false charges.”

“Oh, that guy,” Michael realizes. “I hate that guy.” David nods his head in agreement behind him. 

The guy was new to Santa Carla, so he didn’t understand the unwritten rules. Chief among them being not to fuck with the Lost Boys. This guy hadn’t gotten the memo and he’s had a hard-on for arresting them since he’d spotted them out on one of their shopping sprees. Which was basically just them walking into stores and then walking out with whatever looked good. The good officer had been pissed when the shop owners refused to press charges. 

After that, every time they went out he’d made a point of keeping an eye on them. Following them around and trying to stare them down over his stupid looking handlebar mustache. Half the time Michael noticed him it was because of whatever he used for mustache wax. It reeked. Especially to sensitive undead noses; Michael almost didn’t even want to eat him, the smell was that bad.

Officer Bastard had even cornered him and David underneath the Boardwalk one time, for once not doing anything illegal. But apparently two dudes making out was ‘not conductive to the family friendly atmosphere.’ Like the drunk teenagers and druggies underneath the Boardwalk were concerned with their image. And they couldn’t even kill him. He had friends outside of the precinct; cop buddies from his last station. He’d made no bones about suspecting them of being murderers and if he’d suddenly disappeared it would lead to questions. Annoying questions.   
Skipping town again would be a pain in the ass. It takes a lot of groundwork to have the local populace too scared to fuck with you, but not scared enough to do anything about it.

“They weren’t false charges,” Dwayne points out, but he gives the pile a considering look, “and we are serial killers.”

“That asshole ruined my date,” Paul recalls, and Michael remembers the girl who had stopped hanging around the Boardwalk at night after Officer Bastard had a friendly chat with her parents. Well, mostly he remembers Paul’s bitching. Paul had been pissed his chances to score with a hot chick had been sabotaged. He hadn’t even been planning to eat her; after all, it was a little hard to get repeat dates if all the people you go out with disappear. “I’m down with shoving a bunch of handbags in his bed.” His face lights up. “Oooh, maybe we can put them in his bathtub! Hang them from the ceiling fan?”

Marko shakes his head. “No, no, it’s going to be better than that.” He gives them a bright smile. “I’m going to bury them in his backyard,” he chirps, looking for all the world like he was thrilled with the very idea. 

“What?” Paul asks, dissatisfied. He tosses the jean purse back onto the junk pile. “How is that going to scare him? If that’s all you want to do, we should just eat him instead.”

“Smart,” is all Dwayne says, and he goes to sit beside Michael and David on the couch. He pulls a book out from underneath it and flips to where he left off. 

Marko shakes his head, smile still plastered to his face. “We’re not going to scare him,” he purrs. “We’re going to ruin his life.” 

Marko had held a grudge ever since the guy had ripped his jacket while handcuffing him. Nobody screwed with Marko’s jacket, he’d been working on it for years and had gone after more than one person solely because they were wearing material he wanted to add to it. Last time Michael had sat on the thing, Marko had spent the next week stalking him until Michael was jumping at shadows. Then the little fucker had somehow gotten his pigeons to shit all over Michael’s stuff. 

The resulting fight hadn’t been pretty. Blood and feathers flew until David got tired of it and pulled them apart, threatening them both into dropping it. 

Paul drops onto the ground, sitting leaned up against the fountain. “Tell me more,” he demands, and pats the floor beside him.

Marko plops down, putting the five of them in a loose kind of circle. “Officer Williams is going to go to bed one night dreaming of handcuffs and police batons, and when he wakes up, it’s going to be half the Santa Carla Police Department in his house looking for more evidence on his wicked wicked ways.”

“You want to frame him,” David concludes. He considers the idea. Not only would that put a stop to the asshole’s career, it would also do the pack a good turn to take some suspicion off of them. “You don’t think he could come up with an alibi?” he asks, curious about how far Marko has planned this out.

Marko beams at him. “That’s the best part! All these poor murder victims disappeared when he was alone! And over half of this stuff is from people he’s arrested before.” He cackles, rubbing his hands together like a villain in a Saturday morning cartoon. “Motive and opportunity.”

Michael can’t help but be impressed. Marko had put a lot of effort into this. Paul has a grin creeping across his face and Dwayne has put down his book, instead turning his attention to Marko’s scheming. 

“Now that’s what I call recycling,” Paul comments, with a look at the pile of junk.

“Could just convince him he’s guilty,” Dwayne suggests.

“But that’s no fun,” Paul says. “Right, Marko?” He slings his arm around a grinning Marko.

“That’s right, Paul,” the shrimpy mastermind confirms. “Let’s let the good officer deny his guilt. His very evident guilt.” 

“One problem,” David rains on their parade, “we’re not going to be able to watch the show.”  
Marko stops grinning. “What? Some of it has to happen after dark, and I was planning a little late night visit to his cell—”

“We’re not going to be in town,” David grumbles, still pissed off at the idea of leaving. He tightens his arms around Michael’s waist. Michael takes a moment to be thankful that he doesn’t need to breathe.

“What?!” Paul jumps to his feet, dislodging Marko. “We just got back! No one suspects anything more than the usual.” 

Marko ends up sprawled on the floor, staring at David with disbelief on his face. “No way,” he objects. “I’ve been setting this up for a month! We can’t leave now!”

Dwayne doesn’t move other than to turn his head David’s way. “Hunters?” he asks.

David ignores Marko and Paul’s hysterics. “No,” he tells Dwayne, “worse. Debts.” 

Dwayne looks between him and Michael. “This is about what you two were talking about? Owing somebody?” Michael shrugs at him. 

“Bingo,” David says. “You remember Dr. Carlisle Cullen, right, boys?”

Paul freezes.

Marko sits bolt upright.

Dwayne growls, low and menacing. 

David snorts at their reactions. “I guess you do.”

Michael eyes them and uses his foot to prod at an unusually silent Marko. “The fuck,” he says.  
Paul unfreezes and moves with a speed Michael knows would make him a blur to human eyes. “Cullen?” he asks, right in David’s face. And, since Michael hasn’t moved off of David’s lap, all up in Michael’s space. 

“Paul, what the fuck?” Michael asks the bird’s nest that is the back of Paul’s head.

Paul studies David’s emotionless face. David stares back at him, indifferent to the lack of distance. Michael gets tired of their staring contest and uses the palm of his hand to shove Paul’s face away. 

Paul lets him and makes his way to the still quiet Marko. “Cullen,” he says disbelievingly, sitting back down and hauling Marko onto his lap. He shakes his head. “Damn.”

“David,” Dwayne starts, but is interrupted by Marko.

“What does he want?” The question is quiet, and Michael almost doesn’t recognize Marko’s voice, as subdued as it is. 

Paul rests his chin on Marko’s shoulder and nuzzles at his face. “And does it have to do with us?”

David pushes at Michael until the brunet leans forwards enough for him to pull a crumpled up letter out of his coat. He passes it to Dwayne. Michael leans over until he can read it. 

Calligraphy flows across expensive paper, every letter perfectly formed.

Max,

I hope you and your family are doing well. Perhaps you still dabble in medicine? I, myself, am currently employed at KVH Hospital. My family and I have taken residence just outside of Mattawa, Washington, although we have moved back in one of our homes outside the town of Forks for the time being.

It has been a long time since we have last corresponded and even longer since we have last spoken face to face. Esme and I possess fond memories of our nightly chats and, in relevance to the topic, my family has a new addition, one dear to all of us. She is my granddaughter. 

I am certain you remember my telling you of my son (the first of three as it turns out) and I am pleased to inform you that he has recently been married. His wife, who was the picture of a blushing bride on her wedding day, came home sickly. We we’re concerned for her health until we discovered, to our great surprise, she was pregnant. Our concern did not abate, as it was a difficult pregnancy. Fortunately, both mother and child survived the birth, although my daughter-in-law seems a few permanent shades paler. The child proved healthy and there were no further complications, until recently.

My granddaughter has fallen ill and I plead you, in the name of our past companionship, to assist me in finding a solution, or at least an answer for her sudden decline in health. I know you have more experience with such things than I. Esme and I also look forwards to seeing you once more. 

With the utmost Sincerity,  
Carlisle Cullen

“You sure we didn’t get invited to a country club instead?” Michael asks, incredulous at the sheer pretentiousness inherent in sending a letter with a family crest stamped to the bottom. 

“Sounds about right,” Paul says. “Doc was old. Not as old as Max was—the bastard,” he adds automatically. “But old enough that this crap is normal to him.”

David raises an eyebrow. “Hey, age has nothing to do with it,” he asserts, with a look at the gilt edged paper.

Paul snickers. “Alright,” he concedes with a smirk. “Age and having the ability to read before you were turned.”

“Not all of us were born with silver spoons, Pauly,” David retorts. 

“Peasant,” Dwayne coughs.

David turns a blistering glare on Dwayne. “You can shut right up, you weren’t lettered before the nineteenth century.”

Dwayne only shrugs at him before nodding down at the letter. “Doc’s kid made a halfie and now it’s sick. Why’s that our problem?”

“Wait, what?” Paul lunges forwards, grabbing the letter and ignoring Marko’s complaints about being tossed unceremoniously to the ground. “Thought they couldn’t do that?”

Dwayne reaches down to haul Marko up onto his own lap. Marko doesn’t stop the litany of curses he’s sending Paul’s way, but he does quiet them. Dwayne gives Paul a leer over the top of Marko’s curly head. “Apparently he made one the old fashioned way.”

Paul squints down at the letter. “….holy fuck.” A beat later and he’s shoving it in David’s face. “Did you read this?” he demands. Michael twitches at Paul’s volume. 

“No,” David drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I just thought the paper looked neat, so I brought it home.” He yanks the letter out of Paul’s hand and passes it back to Dwayne.

“He did a human and they spawned! Tell me that won’t happen to us! I’m too young for children!” Paul asks, disturbed. He rocks back on his feet, hands twitching at his sides. One hand makes its way up to his face and starts tugging at his earring.

Dwayne starts laughing at his expression and two seconds and a good look later Michael joins in. Even Marko has stopped sending Paul dirty-looks, instead holding onto Dwayne and giggling at Paul’s face.

David just stares at him, unimpressed. “Paul, we’re dead,” he says.

Paul’s panic doesn’t abate. “So are they! Didn’t stop them!”

David blinks at that. “Huh. True enough.” He considers that for a moment and then sends Paul a taunting grin. “Hope you’ve been using protection.”

Paul lets his head drop into his hands. “Noooo,” he whines. “I’m too young to be a parent.”

“Paul, you’re two hundred and eleven,” David points out. “At this point, you’re probably a great-grandparent.”

Paul makes a noise more suited for a deflating tire than an immortal immoral killer. David looks supremely unimpressed with this.

“Miniature Pauls with little leather jackets.” Something occurs to Marko. “Paulinas,” he adds, and sniggers at Paul’s gawking.

“Oh hell no!” 

Dwayne’s still laughing, hard enough that he’s not even making any noise, just wheezing. “Paul in a minivan,” he gets out, clutching Marko to his chest. “Soccer tournaments—” He convulses. 

Michael chokes at the mental image of Paul herding a bunch of mini-me’s out of a minivan, car dented and covered with rude stickers. “Hope you’re good for child support,” he says, even as he breaks into more laughter. 

False sympathy drips from Marko’s voice as he says, “Don’t worry so much about it,” a grin threatens to break through his serious expression, “it’s not like you get laid that much.”

Paul looks up at that. “Hey! I get laid plenty!” Marko gives him an agreeing look that was a little too smug and Paul considers the ramifications of that statement. “Fuck,” he swears meaningfully. 

They all break out into laughter; Paul’s torn between glaring at them and flipping out over all of his potential progeny. 

“Ha ha ha,” he says petulantly, “laugh it up.” Something hits him. “Hey! You assholes screw people too, why aren’t you worried?” 

David takes pity on him. “Because, Paul, we’re not dumbasses.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“It means,” David shoves a still giggling Michael in Dwayne and Marko’s direction and leans forwards to look Paul in the eye, “that you haven’t knocked up any of your beach bunnies.” He gives him a condescending look. “Although I’m sure you tried real hard.” 

“I haven’t?” Paul’s relieved face almost sets off another wave of laughter from the trio at the other end of the couch. Dwayne now has both Marko and Michael on top of him, both of them watching Paul and David like a volleyball tournament. 

“Paul,” David begins, and Marko and Michael start hitting each other to keep the other from laughing and ruining the moment. “We’re dead,” he says slowly. 

“So are they!” Paul argues. “We’ve been through this!”

“Oh, for—“ David rolls his eyes. “They’re not dead, they’re frozen at whatever stage of their life they were when they turned. Whatever changes them preserves their body.” David gestures towards himself. “Us? We’re dead.” He gestures at Paul with a done expression. “While some of us are just brain dead.” 

Dwayne snorts a laugh.

“Oh.” Paul contemplates this for a second. “But are you—”

“You don’t think Max would have made halfies that way if he could have? You know how obsessed he was with family. He would have flipped his shit at an actual blood relation.” 

Marko shudders at that. “He’d probably knit them little sweaters and make them watch Sesame Street. Toddler sized coffins with designer pillowcases.” 

“Tiny nerd glasses,” Dwayne agrees. “And sippy cups full of AB negative.” 

“Curfews and tutors and music lessons.” Paul adds with disgust. “And manners at the dinner table. No swearing, no piercings, no bikes,” he lists off, “and definitely no fun.” Michael didn’t know Max all that long before, you know, he helped off him, but from what he saw that sounded pretty accurate. 

“And then he’d lock them in the basement when they hit their teens and dye their hair,” David contributes. “And then stake the little bastards for not being the perfect children.” He looks darkly amused at the thought. 

A beat of silence. Dwayne, Paul, and Marko exchange looks.

“Yeah.”

“Sounds about right.”

“True.” 

Rolling his head back onto Dwayne’s shoulder, Michael stretches and feels his spine crack. “Sounds like a blast,” he says. “Get back to the leaving thing. Where are we supposed to be heading?”

David tips his head a Dwayne, who still has the letter. 

Dwayne pulls it out and smooths away the wrinkles begat from being sat on by two laughing vampires. “Washington,” he answers. “Some place called Forks.” 

“Forks?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twilight perspective

“You want to what?” I asked Carlisle, my voice melodic as always, but higher pitched than usual in my distress.

“I only suggest,” he says, “getting a second opinion.”

Edward furrows his alabaster brow. “Carlisle, you must admit, this doesn’t seem the safest option.”

“Renesmee has been exposed to human-drinkers before,” Carlisle reminds us. 

I shudder delicately at the reminder of the days leading up to our fight with the Volturi. Edward brushes a feather-light touch down my cheek to comfort me. 

“Not to someone you couldn’t vouch for, not for one of their kind,” Edward says and I nod in agreement.

I hadn’t even known before this morning that another kind of vampire walked the earth. Wolves and Cold Ones, yes. A different kind of vampire? No way.

“Why haven’t we met one before? These, what did you call them? Ghouls?” Of course, my vampire memory let me recall the exact way Carlisle pronounced the word, but I wanted to make certain I was using this new term correctly.

“Ghouls, yes. That is the technical term, just as we are Cold Ones or daywalkers.” Carlisle nods to Jake, who had been brooding in a corner ever since the notion of introducing Renesmee to yet more ‘bloodsuckers’ had been mentioned. “They also answer to vampire, as the case may be—”

“But they’re not real vampires,” I interrupt.

“Many would tell you there are no real vampires,” Carlisle answers philosophically. 

Edward coughs pointedly. A human gesture that he had no need for, its only purpose to get Carlisle back on track. 

“In any case, the word vampire—meaning the fanged undead who drinks the blood of the living to sustain themselves—applies in both cases. Some might argue that they have more of a right to the word, considering that they possess fangs and we do not.”

“They have fangs?”

“Oh, yes. Their faces shift when they feed, becoming ridged, and fangs descend from the upper jaw.”

Jake snorts. “Great. Just what we need. Leeches with an overbite.”

I roll my golden eyes at Jake’s comment. You’d think that after years of exposure to vampires he’d run out of leech jokes to make.

“Still better than dog-drool,” Edward whispers, lips brushing my ear. I restrain from laughter even while my body quivers at his proximity, I catch his perfectly lopsided smirk from the corner of my eye and immediately am entranced. 

This time it’s Carlisle’s turn to clear his throat. “To answer your original question, Bella; both our kind and theirs are territorial, but while we prefer the more nomadic approach, ghouls will claim territory for themselves, only leaving when necessary or when ousted by outsiders. And they do not often tolerate outsiders in their territory. Especially outsiders who hunt the same food source.”

“So, what, we just avoid each other?”

“To put it simply: yes.”

“But you met one, didn’t you? The one you want to meet Renesmee.”

“Yes, it was under ….unusual circumstances. Esme and I, we were employed by a Californian hospital in 1929, it was there that we met Max.”

“Max?” The name Max didn’t really sound as if it was possessed by a vampire. It was too modern. 

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” Edward says, and I lift my eyebrows in surprise. There wasn’t often something my mind reading husband didn’t have at least an idea of.

“I can’t say I often think of him. It was long ago and I’m afraid I rather had other things on my mind after we parted ways.”

Edward bows his head in acknowledgement of his self-imposed exile from his family.

“But, Max?” I tried to distract them from old history.

“Yes, Max, he was also working as a doctor, but out of a private practice on the city outskirts.”  
Jake snorts again, the werewolf—shapeshifter, whichever—shaking his head. “Let me guess, he proscribed bloodletting?”

Carlisle doesn’t react to the taunt. “No, actually. His control was impeccable. He treated his patients without slipping once, the only oddity was that his clinic was only ever open after nightfall.”

“Wow,” I say. The control I have of my bloodthirst was often called remarkable for someone as vampirically young as I was, but to be around bleeding humans all day definitely would have strained it. Carlisle had always been the pinnacle of such an achievement with his ironclad control, and here he was, saying that another vampire had managed the same. 

The blond doctor smiles at my awe. “Yes, I thought the same. Ghouls in general have more control of the thirst than our species, but Max had still had quite the willpower.” He winced suddenly. “His sons on the other hand…”

“His…? Oh, there were more?”

“Three more, three boys—”

“I thought leeches weren’t allowed to turn kids,” Jake interrupts, expression black. “And after everyone made such a big deal about Nessie being an immortal child…?”

Carlisle laughs, the sound rolling out into the room like church bells. “No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “Boys only in that there were not quite adults. Actually, I do believe that they were turned older than Edward here.”

“Teenagers, then,” Edward says. 

“Yes, teenagers,” Carlisle agrees. “But that was how Max referred to them, ‘boys,’ and he often did scold them as if they were misbehaving children.” 

“And their control wasn’t as good as Max’s…?” I prompted.

“I have no idea.”

I blink at him. It’s a very deliberate gesture, considering that I have no need to blink. 

“They assisted him at the clinic, they walked among humans with little issue, they even picked fights with the locals—which often ended bloodily—and I never once saw them slip.”

“But…”

“But one day Max’s clinic was burned to the ground. Locals had been told of an outbreak of an incurable sickness and that all the bodies needed to be burned to ash. Max confided in me later that one of his sons—I’ve no idea which—had grown hungry and turned on the patients he’d been tending.”

“Oh,” I gasp, bringing a hand to my lips. “That’s horrible.” 

Edward strokes my arm, before turning to Carlisle. “You think it was on purpose,” he says, voice as impassive as his face.

I gasp again. 

“No,” Carlisle denies, “I have no proof. Only that the boys chafed under Max’s rules. They rather resented having to ‘play human’ for their maker.”

Jake growls. “Either these bloodsuckers have no control and are a danger or they have no care for human life and are a danger. Either way, I don’t want them around Nessie.”

“It might be necessary, Jacob,” Carlisle reminds him. 

“You never explained why it was necessary, Carlisle,” Edward says.

“Ah, yes. I believe they will possess a unique insight into Renesmee’s position. If you will allow me to finish my story?” 

“Of course.” Edward inclines his head, and Carlisle continues. 

“After the fire, Max retreated from the public eye. There were offers from the hospital to employ him, but he declined them all. We still met occasionally, to discuss the differences between our kinds, but gradually we met less and less. Until one day he shows up on the doorstep, his sons trailing behind him, and one of them was carrying an unconscious human boy.”

“What, housewarming gift?” Jake jokes, dark eyes glittering even as a scowl never leaves his tanned face.

“Probably more appropriate than wine,” Edward agrees dryly.

I elbow him in his side.

“Oof.” My husband winces and rubs at his arm. “Mind your strength, love. You’re not a newborn anymore, but that still hurts.”

The blond vampire chuckles at us. “Onwards,” he says, “before Esme and Alice are done entertaining my precociously curious granddaughter.” 

“She gets it from her mother,” Edward mumbles, and I lift my elbow threateningly. “You were saying, Carlisle?” he amends.

“Where was I? Ah, yes, Max stood on my doorstep, with three and a half vampires behind him.”

“A half?” I ask, astonished. 

“Yes,” Carlisle says, “he had been in the midst of transitioning into a ghoul when he’d been injured by a group of humans. Max required my assistance in saving him.”

“Why have we not heard of this sooner?” Edward asks, and I know he’s thinking of the days were we were all frantic with worry over Renesmee’s rapid growth. These days her development has slowed, closer to a normal human’s rate of growth; and Nahual’s reassurance that she would be as immortal as us had gone a long way to tame our fears of her leaving us prematurely. 

“There is little similarity between the half vampires of the two species. Theirs are merely a stage of their change, not the result of a vampire and a human’s…” he hesitates, glancing between Edward and I, “bonding.”

I’m glad I can’t blush anymore. 

Edward changes the subject. “When will they arrive?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lost Boys arrive.

We hear them long before we catch sight of them. The rumble of multiple engines echoes down the long driveway.

“I can’t hear them,” Edward says, a twist of unease in his usually velvet smooth voice. I know it’s not the physical kind of hearing that he’s referring to.

I glance up at him, worried all over again at the idea of introducing them to Renesmee. I bite at my lip, careful of my sharp teeth. If Edward couldn’t hear them, how could we be sure they held no ill intent?

“None of them, not at all?” Carlisle asks, curiosity evident in his voice. 

Edward grimaces. “It’s as if a static is covering their thoughts.” He shrugs. “I can feel where their minds should be…”

“Interesting,” Carlisle hums. “I wonder if…” he trails off, muttering to himself, too low for me to hear. Esme, standing next to him with one of her hands entwined with his, shakes her head at him with indulgent fondness. “Ah,” he breaks off, “here they are.”

I stare when I see them. I can’t help it. It was strange to see immortals riding motorbikes. In my experience, vampires preferred to run to their destinations, immortal speed far swifter than any mortal vehicle. 

They tear down the driveway, all five of them on the backs of motorcycles. I wouldn’t be able to say their make or model, only that there was only the barest resemblance between them and the ones Jake and I had spent so much time together fixing a lifetime ago. 

They pull to a stop in front of us , scattering gravel some twenty feet away. We—the Cullens and Jake’s pack, with Renesmee sandwiched between the two groups for the best possible protection—don’t make a move beyond shifting into ready stances. And, in the case of the wolves, showing teeth. 

I pull my daughter to my side, tucking her against the marble hardness of my body even as she strains to see our guests. She’s as tall as me now, and she’s still growing. It seems like she’s going to inherit her father’s height. Edward takes a single step forward, putting him between us and these strange newcomers in a clear show of his protectiveness of our little family. 

The wolves, Jake chief among them, all bare fangs in silent snarls; their fur bristling at these newest bloodsuckers. The grey wolf I know to be Leah lets out an audible growl, and I can’t help but hope her abrasiveness doesn’t do anything to offend the ghouls, not while they could be able to help my daughter. 

The rest of the Cullens stand still as statues; all of us behind Carlisle, who is standing in the front with Esme, both ready to play welcoming hosts. Jasper behind him to his left, prepared to project waves of manufactured calm with his empathy at any sign of tension. Alice is next to him, arm linked with his.; she had confided to me that these ghouls made her uneasy, that they blurred her visions much like Renesmee and the wolves do. Rosalie and Emmett are further back and to Carlisle and Esme’s right. Rosalie looks bored with the proceedings, an idle sneer on her beautiful face. Emmett stands next to her, burly form frozen, but I knew that if he was human he’d be nearly vibrating with excitement. Edward told me that he was looking forward to having a whole new species to test his strength against. 

Dismounting their bikes, they approach, coming to a stop some ten feet away. Jake growls at their approach and I see them hesitate before a blond in a long leather jacket rolls his shoulders and keeps moving forwards. The rest follow, fanning out into a loose line. The five of them were all males, and most of them wore leather jackets—the only one not is instead sporting a patchwork thing, looking for all the world like it was made up of fabric scraps. I can almost hear Alice’s fingers twitching. Not one of them looked older than twenty. 

They looked more like a biker gang than a coven of vampires, I can’t help but think. 

“David,” Carlisle greets. “Thank you for coming all this way, and for bringing your coven with you.”

“Same to you, doc,” the short haired blond—who must be David—salutes, “it’s good to see you again, Carlisle.” He tips his head in Esme’s direction. “Esme, as beautiful as ever.” His smile was charming and his demeanor charismatic. It was completely at odds with the way his eyes scanned us, lingering on the wolves. 

“David,” Esme smiles, “I hope you’ve been well. I was so sorry to hear about Max, my condolences,” she says, in a show of sympathy that Esme so excels at; neither overbearing, nor inconsiderate. 

“My thanks,” David says, and the turn of phrase took me aback for a split second. He looked far too young to be using such formal language, and it seemed incongruent with the picture he and his compatriots exhibited. He changes the subject. “You remember Dwayne and Paul,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of two of the four vampires behind him.

Carlisle nods, smiling warmly. “Dwayne, Paul,“ he says, and the two of them nod in turn. They both wore their hair long; one blond and grinning, the other a more reserved brunet. 

“Heya, doc,” the blond waves. He had a beautiful face and wild, Rockstar hair; he looked as if he belonged on a stage somewhere, screaming into a microphone with girls swooning in the crowd. He turns a devastating smile on Esme. “Mrs. Doc, may I say—”

The brunet elbows him. “Carlisle,” he acknowledges in a cool voice. “Esme,” he says, voice fractionally warmer. Long, dark hair reaches past his shoulders and he stares at us out of dark eyes. 

The blond—Paul—pouts, exaggeratedly rubbing at his side, but remains quiet. 

Esme giggles, and the rest of us besides Carlisle, who only looks fond, are stunned at her reaction. The sound makes her look even younger than her youthfully beautiful face implies. “Paul. Dwayne,” she greets warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

David continues, ignoring the by-play. He points at the shortest of the ghouls present. “I’m sure you remember him, although he has a few less holes this time.”

“What’s up, doc?” The smallest one—another blonde, but this one with his hair in curls—asks. He looked to be the youngest, slight and with a wide-eyed face. The playful glee in his voice as he asks his question only adds to the image. Emmett chuckles and Edward shoots him a look.

“Ah, Marko,” Carlisle recognizes. “I’m glad to see you so recovered.” His voice switches to a more professional tone. “No lingering issues?”

“Nah,” Marko responds. 

At the same, Paul snorts. “You mean aside from the lack of pulse?”

“Other than that, yes,” Carlisle replies, unfazed. 

I roll my eyes. Great. Another person who likes vampire jokes. Maybe Jake will manage to get along with our guests after all. 

The last one, a brunet with windblown curls that brush his shoulders, copies me, rolling his eyes at the exchange. He has a brooding face and handsome features. He looked like an old-school movie star, his face suited for the silver screen.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Carlisle says, politely, like his immortal memory would let him forget any face. 

David slings an arm around the unnamed brunet’s shoulders. “This one is new, doc. Michael, say hello.”

Our side shifts uneasily at that. Newborns were unpredictable. The thirst made them impulsive, hard to control. I dreaded to think of one around Renesmee. Renesmee, who has heard all our warnings about newborn vampires, leans to the side to get a better view around Edward. She gasps quietly and Edward’s stance shifts in response, putting her behind him again. 

Michael raises an eyebrow at our reactions. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

“A newborn?” Carlisle asks, voice perfectly pleasant, as though discussing the weather.

David examines our discomfit, his eyes unreadable. “No,” he tells us, after a tense moment.

“Forgive us our wariness, we’ve had recent troubles with newborns.” Carlisle explains. “It’s good to meet you, Michael.” 

Michael nods at him, face inscrutable save for the tiny crease of his brow. “No problem,” he says. 

They don’t look like vampires, I think, face neutrally blank. They were pale, yes, but their skin looked more flesh than marble. Their eyes were all human shades. Somehow, despite knowing that they were different from us, I still expected more similarities. 

David, who must be their leader judging by the way he led the introductions, had blue eyes—nothing like the ruby red and topaz I was accustomed to. The only remarkable thing about them was the sheer apathy that marked his gaze when he looked over my immortal family. They warmed only when he looked at the ghouls with him, a spark only perceptible due to the keenness of my vision. If I were still human I would shiver. 

I inhale once, to take in their scent, and have to control my immediate instinct to bare my teeth. They smelled of blood. They smelled of death; not of rot, not the sickly sweet scent of decay, but rather their scent was that of the long dead. They smelled like iron, iron and earth and the grave.  
It was nothing like the sweet and appealing scents that my family held. Or the earthiness of the wolves. It was a scent that made it clear that these beings were associated with death.

They appeared more human than us, but somehow I doubted that translated into truth.   
Carlisle motions a hand in our direction. “As you can see, our family has grown since we last met.” 

David doesn’t respond, but he does nod his agreement. According to Carlisle the last time they had met it had been just him and Esme. Edward had been away; this being around the time that he had set out on his own, rejecting Carlisle’s way of life. 

“This is Alice, and her husband Jasper,” Carlisle continues. Jasper nods, eyes alert and stance casually ready in a way I recognized from when I had just woken up to my new life. He appeared nonthreatening, but I knew that he was ready to spring into motion at the slightest hint of trouble. Alice, in direct contrast, was all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. She curtsied and rose with a beaming smile on her face.

They might be messing with her visions, and she never appreciated that, but Alice was always interested in new people. She said the way they impacted our own choices and fates were interesting. Jasper, on the other hand, was wary of any and all newcomers until they proved themselves safe, or at least uninterested in causing trouble. 

Carlisle continues again, “Emmett and Rosalie are the couple to my right.” 

Emmett gives them a broad grin and cracks his knuckles. The steel bands of muscle on his arms flex with the motion. Rosalie only gives a perfunctory smile and then lets the expression melt off her face. Emmett might have been looking forward to new challengers, but I knew that if it wasn’t for Renesmee Rosalie would have been much less accommodating about having strange vampires in her home. 

“And this,” Carlisle turns to Edward and I, “is Edward and Bella, and their daughter, Renesmee.”

I step forwards, moving to stand beside Edward. Renesmee remains under my arm, but now the ghouls have a clear view of her. Renesmee waves a dainty hand.

David nods at each of us as we are introduced, his gaze assessing. His hands might be in the pockets of his leather jacket and he appears relaxed, but something in the way he stands reminds me of Jasper. Dwayne is a dark presence over his left shoulder.

Both Michael and Paul look bored with the introductions, but Paul occasionally spares a moment to give us considering looks. I catch him looking between Emmett and Rosalie with a raised brow and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Marko’s eyes flit between everyone at a rapid pace and he reminds me of Alice in the way his weight is on the balls of his feet, like he’s prepared to take off and start floating at any moment.

None of them react as the others of our kind did. There is no surprise at her flushed skin or at her beating heart. It seems in line with what Carlisle says, that they are used to the idea of half-vampires. That, more than anything, convinces me that they might be able to help.  
Instead of asking about Renesmee, David gives Jake a look. “New guard dogs?” Blue eyes take stock of the wolves standing with us. Leah growls at him when he looks Seth’s way, and the chocolate furred wolf I knew to be Quil snaps at her. She quiets. 

“No, no,” Carlisle refutes, “they are allies.”

“Not hellhounds?” David asks. I don’t know what he means by that, but it seems Carlisle does, because he shakes his head. 

“A local shapeshifter pack,” he explains, “we have…” he sends a glance at Renesmee, “overcome our differences in favor of a common cause.”

All of them look curious at this, but, “Interesting,” is all David comments. He gives Jacob a nod and Jake doesn’t growl back, so I suppose he considered it an acceptable greeting. 

Renesmee grasps my hand and images flash through my mind. Jake in human form next to an image of David. Half blurred images of Michael also slip through, but they quickly disappear. Clearer pictures of the house, specifically of the living room, are presented. 

Edward obviously sees them because he turns to Carlisle and smoothly suggests, “Why don’t we take this inside? The wolves can join us if they please.” 

Jacob gives him a challenging stare and Edward nods at whatever is in his thoughts. Jake nods and barks once. He and the rest of his pack retreat into the woods, but not before Jake brushes a furry cheek over the top of Renesmee’s head. 

“An excellent idea,” Carlisle agrees. “If you would…” he gestures towards the house.

David and the rest exchange glances. “Why not?” he shrugs, and we all make for the house.


End file.
